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Sarah and Moses: God’s Teachers of Compassion

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The essay that follows is an edited excerpt from Jewish Mysticism and the Spiritual Life: Classical Texts, Contemporary Reflections Edited by Lawrence Fine, Eitan Fishbane and Or N. Rose. Jewish Lights, 2011. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Shortly after the end of the Second World War, a laborer working on the site of the destroyed Warsaw Ghetto discovered a container buried in the ground. Inside the container were several manuscripts written by the famed Hasidic master Rabbi Kalonymous Kalmish Shapira, the Rebbe of Piaceszna. Among the manuscripts was a collection of sermons referred to by the author as “Torah Insights From the Years of Wrath 5700-5702” (1939-1942). This was the last text R. Shapira wrote before the Nazis murdered him in 1943 and the last work of Hasidism written in Poland during the Holocaust. The book was later published in Israel under the title Esh Kodesh; a book-length study, Holy Fire has been written on these sermons by Nehemia Polen. As Polen has noted, while there has emerged a significant body of religious writings attempting to deal with the horrors of the Shoah, most were written after the war. Esh Kodesh is one of the few extended religious responses to the Holocaust penned from “within the heart of darkness itself.” (The Holy Fire p. xvii).

One sermon in the collection was delivered on November 22, 1939, less than two months after Germany’s brutal invasion of Poland. Like the rest of the book, it demonstrates the Piaceszners’ determined effort to continue to engage in Jewish religious life and leadership in the face of mounting oppression and great communal and personal loss. R. Shapira, like earlier Hasidic preachers, rarely references his own suffering. Yet, we can make these links by tying the historical record to the date of his sermons.

Between mid-September and early November of 1939, R. Shapira suffered the deaths of his son, his mother, and two extended family members. The sermon he wrote on November 22 after all of these tragic losses is at once an expression of spiritual resilience and a piercing cry to God. Using the classical rabbinic derashah (homily) as his medium, the Piaceszner Rebbe issues an anguished call to God for compassionate intervention, “Therefore, may God grant mercy to us and to all of Israel, and swiftly redeem us—spiritually and physically—with revealed kindness.” We hear in this cry echoes of the voices of the biblical figure of Abraham and the early Hasidic master R. Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev calling on God to deal justly and mercifully with His human subjects.

R. Shapira’s plea (which can be founded translated below) takes the form of a carefully crafted and poignant reflection on Sarah’s death and Moses’ role in placing the written record of this event immediately after the Binding of Isaac in the Book of Genesis. The homily opens with Rashi’s comment (based on earlier rabbinic teachings) that the reason the Torah records the years of Sarah’s life in three discrete units is to underscore her virtuousness from childhood through old age. The Piacezner Rebbe strengthens this teaching by pointing out that when one compares the language used in the Bible to describe Abraham’s death, it does not include a second mention of his lifespan as does Sarah’s. This, the Rebbe asserts, is indicative of the matriarch’s exalted status; not only is Sarah the greatest tzaddeket in the Torah, but she even surpasses Abraham in her virtue.

At this point in the sermon the Piaceszner Rebbe turns his attention from the Bible to early Hasidism and quotes a brief teaching from R. Menahem Mendel of Rymanov on the nature of suffering. The Rymanover begins by affirming the talmudic teaching that suffering, like salt, purifies the soul. However, he adds an important caveat: like salt, suffering must be dispensed with great care; it must be combined with mercy and administered in direct proportion to one’s ability to tolerate the pain. In quoting this teaching the Piaceszner Rebbe seems to be saying that while the Jews of modern Europe may be in need of purification for sinful behavior and spiritual growth, the pain is just too much for them to tolerate; it must be alleviated or they will be will ruined by it.

It is the Rymanover’s teaching that serves as the bridge to the biblical world and to the previous discussion about Sarah’s death. Utilizing Rashi’s commentary, R. Shapira now explores the oft-repeated rabbinic question of why the report of Sarah’s death comes immediately after the narrative of the binding of Isaac (“Akedat Yitzhak” or simply the Akedah). Rashi’s answer is that upon hearing about this agonizing test of faith, Sarah’s soul “fled from her” and she died. {This teaching from Rashi, like the previous one, is based on earlier rabbinic legend. See Tamar Kadari }.

Having set several key exegetical elements in place—Sarah’s unparalleled righteousness, the precarious nature of suffering, and the matriarch’s dramatic demise—R. Shapira intensifies the discussion with a bold assertion about Moses, claiming that Moses placed the text of Sarah’s death immediately after the Akedah as an act of literary advocacy. He argues that Moses sought to summon God’s attention, to demonstrate forcefully to the Merciful One that the people of Israel cannot not bear extreme suffering. After all, if Sarah could not tolerate such pain, how can the rest of us be expected to do so?

This is a strong claim that sounds particularly daring coming from a traditional Torah commentator. However, it should be remembered that as a Hasidic master—a tzaddik—the Piaceszner Rebbe understood it as his duty to serve as an intermediary between heaven and earth. As James Diamond has noted, the Rebbe presents Moses’ “scribal activism” as an example of courageous and compassionate leadership. The prophet placed the texts in Genesis side by side to urge the Almighty to see things from a human perspective. From the heavens it might appear that Israel’s suffering is appropriate, from earth it feels unbearable.

The sermon intensifies with the Rebbe’s final comment about Sarah. Some might be inclined to think that the matriarch responded too strongly to the news about the Akedah, and had she been able to better control her emotions she would have lived a longer life.. The Piaceszner Rebbe refutes this charge, stating that Sarah did not die because of her own sorrow; rather, she martyred herself for the sake of her people. In the wake of God’s terrifying test of Abraham and his family, Sarah decided that she urgently needed to show the Divine the destructive consequences of causing people too much pain. While she may have been able to persevere, her descendents would be ruined. This is why Sarah intentionally surrendered her life.

In his defense of Sarah, R. Shapira teaches that the phrase “the years of Sarah’s life,” alludes to the fact that not only were the 127 years Sarah lived equally virtuous, but so were the years she relinquished. Sarah sanctified those “lost years” through her great act of heroism. While Abraham did not ultimately sacrifice Isaac on Mount Moriah, Sarah sacrificed herself for the sake of her offspring.

R. Shapira ends this impassioned commentary with a heart-rending appeal: he asks that God remember Sarah’s martyrdom and bring spiritual and physical redemption to the Jews of Europe. He adds that his request is for hasadim nig’lim, revealed kindness. As a teacher of a mystical tradition in which there is much discussion of God’s hidden and manifest presence and action, he states unambiguously that what he is calling for is revealed kindness—nothing less will do.

I first encountered this text as I was preparing a derashah on the Torah portion of Hayyei Sarah. Fascinated, but overwhelmed by the pain emanating from the teaching, I quickly turned to other textual resources. I have since returned to this homily several times, studying it more carefully and discussing it with others. As a person deeply committed to Jewish thought and practice, but who struggles with core questions of belief, I find the Piacezner Rebbe’s honest and searching exploration of suffering very moving. The fact that he wrote this original and daring sermon under such painful circumstances makes it even more inspiring. It is a stunning example of the work of a brilliant and brave spiritual leader trying to comfort and defend his community while dealing with terrible personal loss.

Among the several intriguing elements of this homily is the Piacezner Rebbe’s portrayal of Sarah. It is not often that one reads in Hasidic Torah commentaries a description of a “righteous woman” who takes such bold initiative. Even Abraham—the father of monotheism—does not receive the same level of praise. Nehemia Polen has suggested that this teaching was inspired, in part, by the death of the Rebbe’s mother less than a month before he delivered this sermon. Apparently the elder Mrs. Shapira succumbed to a heart attack after hearing of the deaths of her grandson and other relatives in the German bombardment of Warsaw.

I wonder to what extent the Piaceszner Rebbe identified with the figure of Sarah as he was mourning his mother, his son, his daughter-in-law, and a sister-in-law visiting from the land of Israel. With this knowledge in mind, the citation from the Talmud, “What difference does it make whether all of me or part of me is killed,” takes on even greater poignancy. It is not surprising that this Hasidic tzaddik viewed Sarah as a model tzaddeket, who attempted to use her own experience of suffering to protect her community from future Akedot.

The Piacezner Rebbe presents us with not one, but two models of leadership in this sermon. Moses follows Sarah as another great advocate of the people of Israel. While the Matriarch surrenders her life for her offspring, Moses lives on to remind God of her story and to continue to agitate on behalf of his community. Like Moses, the Rebbe continues to lead his flock, using his exegetical creativity and moral and spiritual force to try and move God to intervene on behalf of his people.

While the focus of the sermon is on the courageous efforts of Sarah and Moses to arouse God’s mercy, I believe this presentation of the loving and noble deeds of these biblical figures also calls us to reflect on our own behavior as beings created in the Divine Image, Gen 1:27. Why do we not show more “revealed kindness” to others? Will our experiences of suffering—whether we view them as divinely ordained or not—lead us to greater empathy or embitterment? What are we willing to sacrifice for others? How widely can we draw our circles of compassion?

Finally, what drew me to this text is that like so many other Jews of European heritage I lost many relatives in the Shoah. My mother’s pain, as the child of refugees, was part of my consciousness from a very young age. It was in this context that many of my lasting theological questions first emerged. Reading the writings of the Piacezner Rebbe provides me with a meaningful framework in which to explore these difficult issues, while also feeling a greater sense of connection to lost family and community members. It also serves as a powerful reminder of the great privilege I have of living in a society in which I can practice my Judaism freely, drawing on the wisdom of my ancestors as I seek to carry forth my religious tradition into the future.

May the memory of the Rebbe of Piaceszna continue to be a source of courage and compassion.

The Piaceszner’s Sermon

Translator’s Note: In preparing this translation I consulted and adapted J. Hershy Worch’s Sacred Fire: Torah from the Years of Fury, 1939-1942, edited by Deborah Miller (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 2002), pp. 12-14 and Nehemia Polen’s The Holy Fire, pp. 96-97 –Or Rose

“Sarah lived to be one hundred years and twenty years and seven years old. These were the years of Sarah’s life” (Genesis 23:1).

Rashi explains: “The numbers of years are written separately—one hundred years and twenty years and seven years—to tell us that just as at age twenty she was without sin, so too at one hundred. The verse ends with the words ‘These were the years of Sarah’s life’ because she was equally virtuous at all of these ages.”

What else does this verse teach us? Of all the righteous women mentioned in the Torah, none are spoken of as highly as Sarah. This is even more striking when considered in light of what is written of Abraham upon his death. When Abraham our father dies, the Torah also says, “He lived one hundred years and seventy years and five years (Genesis 25:27),” and Rashi explains that this was because Abraham also lived without sin. And yet, at the end of the verse we do not find the words “These were the years of the life of Abraham,” which might tell us, as with Sarah, that all of these years were considered equally virtuous.

In the holy book, Ma’or V’Shemesh, we find a comment from R. Menachem Mendel of Rymanov concerning a teaching found in the Talmud (Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 5a). R. Shimon ben Lakish says: “The Torah uses the word covenant in reference to salt (Leviticus 2:3) and to suffering (Deuteronomy 28:69). This teaches us that just as salt purges meat, so does suffering purify a person.” R. Menahem Mendel of Rymanov adds the following: “Just as meat must not be over-salted for one to enjoy it, so too must suffering be properly combined with mercy and carefully measured in accordance with a person’s capacity to tolerate it.”

Rashi asks, “Why does the Torah recount the death of Sarah directly after the binding of Isaac?” He answers: “When Sarah was told of the binding of Isaac—of how he was prepared for slaughter, and how the knife was laid at his throat—her soul fled from her and she died.”

So Moses our teacher, the faithful shepherd, placed the death of Sarah and the binding of Isaac side by side in order to advocate on our behalf. Moses is demonstrating what happens when a person’s suffering is too severe, as was the case with Sarah—“her soul fled from her.” And if Sarah the great tzaddeket (righteous woman) could not bear such pain, how can we be expected to do so?

Even though our mother Sarah took the binding of Isaac so much to heart that her soul fled from her, she died for the good of the Jewish people. She gave up her life in order to show God that Israel cannot bear too much suffering. Even though a person, with the mercy of God, may survive his suffering, elements of his strength, his mind, and his spirit are broken and lost to him—“What difference does it make whether all of me or part of me is killed” (Babylonian Talmud, Baba Kama 65a).

This explains the meaning of the words, “These were the years of the life of Sarah.” For it might appear that Sarah sinned by shortening her lifespan. Had she not taken the binding of Isaac so much to heart, she would have lived longer. However, since she acted for the sake of the Jewish people, the Torah alludes to the virtue of her action through the words, “These were the years of the life of Sarah.” Meaning, all of the years of Sarah’s life were equally good, including the years,that she would have lived, beyond 127. For even with these years she did not sin.

Therefore, may God grant mercy to us and to all of Israel, and swiftly redeem us spiritually and physically—with revealed kindness.

R. Kalonymous Kalmish Shapira, Esh Kodesh